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people seems almost genre-
breaking and bold. Can you talk
about the experience of making
a professional production with
an ensemble of young artists?
Tangela Large: Yeah, I treated
this production just like a
professional production. We did
have “classes” before the actual
rehearsal process, but my main
objective —as far as the classes—
were to create a safe space
where the MPS students could
bond. Kindred minds and bodies
are the foundation for ensemble
building. If I used any theatre
rhetoric that was unheard of, I
would simply define the word, use
it in context, and move forward.
Demanding the best brings out
the best. I came into the room
expecting nothing less than
professional behavior. To add, a
good queen wants balance and
health for her people. Some days
we danced, some days we sung,
but every day we laughed!
AA: It seems to me that directing
this piece in Alabama—at the
state theatre nonetheless—
carries additional electricity. The
night I saw the production, I sat
near the first African American
female congresswoman
(Congresswoman Terri Sewell)
and directly next to an African
American patron in her 80s—
who vividly recalled her time in
the 60s. Can you talk about the
significance (and pressure) of
directing Four Little Girls in the
very state?
TL: I’ve never really suppressed
my voice, but I have learned
diplomacy. The only “pressure”
that I felt was to make sure that
when the elders—white and
black folks that were reared in
the civil rights movement—saw
this production, they would feel a
sense of accountability and joy in
W i n te r 20 1 9
connection to the storytelling. The
truth is that Montgomery remains
the heart of the confederacy
rooted in a lot of past trauma that
needs awareness and attention.
If we as a [national] collective are
never willing to sit in our truths,
then how can we ever heal?
I constantly thought about Sarah
Collins Rudolph, Addie Mae’s
baby sister, and the life she has
lived. She exists within this void
of grief, PTSD—sister, daughter,
friend, activist, artist, historian,
and most importantly a young
girl whose childhood was “blown
away.” You’re not necessarily a
part of the four little girls because
you survived, but you’re also
forgotten in a sense because
you survived. I dedicated my
rehearsals to Sarah, with the
hope that she would attend and
walk away proud and comforted
with a happy memory of her big
sister. Her validation was all that
mattered; after opening night she
smiled and said, “Y’all got it right”.
AA: It seems to me when
directing work about America’s
painful nature, there is an
advantage to directing young
people in the story—it adds to
the stakes in a way. Particularly
because these artists aren’t
“professional actors,” there’s
a rawness or a realness to
the context of their portrayals
which adds power to the event.
Can you reflect on this a bit?
For more reluctant audience
members who might be made
uncomfortable by the content,
do you think it is harder for them
to reject a production which
activates the voices of local
young people to tell the story?
TL: That’s a great question!
Children walk fully in their truth.
Children are blunt—very blunt.
Tact, diplomacy, and wisdom
strengthen as you get older
(we hope). My kids were very,
very honest with me, especially
when we had conversations
surrounding the play’s language
and what I expected from them
as storytellers.
We talked about privilege,
narrow-minded friends at school,
and what the assumed response
would be with this show.
With age comes a lot of
emotional suppression, and
there is nothing more powerful
than a child speaking truth to
power versus adults. If a child is
courageous enough, then what’s
your excuse?
A lot of them really hoped
that the audience would walk
away understanding how
Four Little Girls was actually
centered around more promise
than trauma. Some of them
were petrified because their
friendships were threatened if
classmates discovered that they
used the “n-word” in the play.
It was undoubtedly hard, but they
were brave. I told them that they
had to be steel. What is steel?
One of my kids shouted: “It’s
strong and reflective.” Exactly. I
challenged them to hold up a
mirror and honor the experience
of Addie, Cynthia, Carole, and
Denise. I told them to dedicate
their performances to those
girls. Just because it’s your truth
doesn’t mean that it’s someone
else’s truth. To tell this story is a
privilege.
Alex Ates is a member of
AATE’s Board of Directors. He
is also the Managing Editor of
Incite/Insight.